The Mob's Justice
by Eristarisis
Summary: Fennthwick Moss, was a man like any other. He paid the ultimate price for being a man of honor, loyalty and unspeakable courage. This is the perversion of justice, the spark that would fan flames of betrayal, and unleash war upon Neverwinter.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: The Cure That Cursed. **

Within the confines of Helm's Hold, Darius shouted at the weak and broken form of Desther Indelayne. The former Watchknight of Helm was held in the firm grip of the half-human, half orc, Daelan Red Tiger. Darius did not hesitate as he lashed out again with a gauntleted fist, driving it directly in to the ribs. He took some pride in the strength that delivered the blow as he heard at least one rib splinter beneath the furious assault.

The Watchknight turned traitor of the City of Neverwinter, finally gave out the knowledge that the duo sought, confessing to the location of the cure, in one of the adjacent rooms. Daelen maintained his firm grip as Darius search revealed the precious cure to the Wailing Death that Desther and his false Helmites had unleashed upon the city.

"Daelan, put him down," ordered Darius, "Tie him up, and drag him behind us, unless he is willing to walk on his own two feet."

Daelan nodded as he pulled the coil of rope and began to bind Desthers hands behind his back, before wrapping a length around its neck and across its chest, "Run, and you'll choke the life from yourself," growled his jailor. No that anything other than death awaited his carcass, once it was dragged back to Neverwinter, to stand trial for the crimes it had committed against hundreds of innocents.

Desther stumbled along the corridors, as it was lead down the corridors and stairs of Helm's Hold, in to the courtyard. However, Darius could only stop and stare, before shaking his head. So many broken, bloodied and butchered bodies littered the open space and its flagstones, the blood having pooled and dried, staining the stones a deep burgandy color that not even the lashing rains could wash away. Men, monks, priests, and clerics, all and none had been spared.

Towards the large double doors that marked the entrance to the Hold, Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande, renowned for her faith in Tyr, as a Paladin of the maimed god, also renowned for her beauty, stood with several dozen guards, and was relieved to see that Darius, Daelan and most importantly, to Aribeth, her lover Fenthwick Moss. The three men showed the signs of combat, in their wounds and the fatigued that laced their bodies. For Darius and Daelan, their cleansing of the undead that saturated Helm´s Hold had taken its toll. As had delivering a sound beating to Desther, the thing that they forced to walk ahead of them that they were unwilling to call by name unless absolutely necessary.

"Darius! Daelan...Fenthwick...I see that you have captured the Traitor."

Darius nodded as he lashed out with his foot, striking Desther squarely in the lower back, sending him flying forward, past them to land in a heap upon the ground. Guards, dressed in the livery of the city hoisted him back to his feet, before untying the rope that bound him, only to clap him in solid irons and chains. Without a word, they dragged the false watchknight and traitor towards the open portal that would lead back to Castle Never.

Fenthwick, his bloodied face, with a split lip and bruised eye, could only meet the gaze of the woman he loved for a few moments before he cast his eyes to the ground, the words were mumbled, but still audible, as Daelan and Darius backed away slightly from the lovers, "I'm so sorry."

Aribeth sighed quietly and gently embraced her lover, "It was not your fault. We are all to blame, in some fashion for not having realized what Desther truly was. However, we have the cure, and the city is saved. Praise be to Tyr." She pulled him into a tight hug then kissed his cheek, as he wrapped his arms around her, relief clearly visible in him as he held her.

Darius yawned and scratched his head before looking back at the Hold and sighing, "We need to get back to Neverwinter and arrange the distribution of this cure. Hopefully, nobody has heard anything about this."

"I hope Lord Nasher did what I advised," Aribeth turned and led everyone back to the still open portal that the guards had used minutes before, "I recommended that he order all those present to remain silent upon what had transpired, as it would not reflect well if the populace found out what happened."

"A wise course of action, my lady," said Daelan, "I hope he has done as you suggested, else there will be great anger and hatred that will have to be addressed upon our return."

The group arrived through the portal, opened within the Courtyard of Castle Never. While the portal closed, Desther seemed to realize what fate had in store for him, as he was dragged, kicking and screaming, hurling abuse, obscenities and threats at all and sundry, past the stake driven in to the ground, with tinder surrounding it at its base. The guards took great delight in ensuring that Desther tripped several times along the way to his cell, as they threw him in to the darkest and dankest cell that they could find, determined to do all that they could, to ensure that the traitor would have a short yet unpleasant as possible stay. It would only be a matter of minutes, before Lord Nasher would order his interrogation, at the hands of his best, to extract all information, using any means necessary.

Darius, a master of many arts, persuasion amongst them, offered to lend his assistance. Where others had failed to "persuade" the former Watchknight in to divulging any information, it took Darius only a few minutes, and a several dozen strokes of the short sword, to extract a full confession from the traitor. He took great pleasure in carving the man apart, while Desther screamed and shouted in pain and agony, as Daelan stood in mute silence watching Darius do the necessary.

Even as Darius had carried out his "persuasive interrogation," within the bowels of the Castle, Oleff and many others dispensed the cure to the masses, as Lord Nasher looked on from one of the windows of the castle. Fenthwick and Aribeth were nowhere to be found, having taken shelter in another part of the castle, to savor some quiet time alone with each other. Nasher looked out across the city and vowed that justice would be done.

Darius had completed his interrogation, and had care to remove the stains of his labor from his armor, before they joined the duo, enjoying the rays of the evening sun upon them, coming in from an open window. Fenthwick had refused divine healing for the wounds he had suffered, even as Aribeth balanced a medical kit in her lap and sought to apply the healing salve to the bruised eye, "Fenthwick, lift your head so I can treat that eye."

Daelan said nothing, as Darius grabbed the arm of a passing handmaiden, and politely requested a bottle of wine and four glasses, to celebrate the end of the Wailing Death. Fenthwick sighed and turned his head but kept his eyes on the ground, "Stop being so grumpy Fenthwick."

Darius chuckled quietly from the doorway, as Fenthwick smiled a little and looked up at them. "I guess I should, but I cannot help but wonder what will happen once the people find out about Desther's actions. I'm sure someone saw him when we brought him back to the castle and no doubt somebody will eventually slip on what happened in the chamber."

"Calm yourself Fenthwick. Even if the truth is discovered, it is Desther who will die upon the stake, not you. Your innocence is clear to us all," said Daelan, as he eased himself in to a chair by the window. The chair creaked under his bulk, a two hundred and forty pound mass of muscle. While you can take the Barbarian out of the Frozen North, you cannot take the Frozen North out of the Barbarian. He longed to be out in the snow again, to feel it and the wind around him as he stalked through its plains and forests

The handmaiden reappeared with the bottle of Elven wine and four glasses. She handed them to Darius with a shy flirty smile. Darius took the wine and glasses from her, ensuring that he brushed her hands, lightly with the tips of his fingers, while flashing a warm smile in return. The Handmaiden blushed, and skittered down the corridor.

Darius chuckled as the handmaiden retreated down the corridor. Entering the room, he closed the door with a nudge of his foot before placing himself between Fenthwick and the seated mountain of muscle, Daelan. Placing an arm around the shoulders of Fenthwick and the other around Daelan, somehow holding the bottle in one hand, and the glasses in the other, "Apart from a quiet celebration for the four of us, do you have any plans for the rest of the day?"

The camaraderie had grown amongst the foursome had blossomed in to friendship. The cold distance that had originally been present amongst their discussion and debates within the Halls of Justice had lessened and evaporated as they learned a little more about each other, and more importantly, came to trust one another. Granted, Darius Angelus, known commonly as the "Death Dealer," had a reputation that made him a difficult person to get along with, unless he called you a friend, you were best limiting your contact with him.

"With the cure being dispensed, and our day having been long indeed," paused Aribeth, "I thought that we should simply enjoy what quiet time that we have together, the four of us. Before we part company, and go our separate ways."

Darius filled the four glasses, before handing them round, first to Lady Aribeth, then to Fenthwick, followed by Daelan and finally taking one for himself, "To the end of the plague!"

A worthy toast as they raised their glasses in tribute, Daelan sparingly sipping at his glass, not a fan of such finery. He would have preferred a mug of ale, but he had to ask the question, although somewhat hesitantly, "Darius, were you... planning on leaving?"

Darius turned to face his companion turned friend, taking a moment to note the hint of sadness and to pick his words carefully, "With the plague having been cured, I have no real reason to remain in the city. I have," he paused uncertain how much he could reveal even if he was in the company of friends. "I have unfinished business with a certain someone, that goes back many years," Darius turned to Fenthwick, "But since this is over with, I believe that there is a wedding that I am inclined to attend, as a guest of course, if I could wrangle an invitation?"

The sudden commotion, the noise and chants that had grown from a quiet whisper in to the sound similar to the battle cry of an entire Orc clan, as Daelan turned and glanced out the window. The sight arrayed caused him to tense, "My friends, it appears that we have a problem."

The trio approached the window, clustering around it as they stared down at the massive crowd that seemed to be composed of any Neverwintarian capable of standing and walking. Torches, clubs, amongst them a few short blades and daggers, raised and hammered against the ground, even as the Palace Guards formed ranks to prevent them from breeching in to the castle's interior. The guards were growing somewhat tense and edgy, as more than one hand rested upon the hilt of a sword. The mob´s motive clear, as was what they chanted, "We demand Justice! The traitor must burn!"

It took only moments before the door slammed open, the foursome darted around in surprise, Darius's right hand descending to the hilt of the katana that rested upon his hip. His left hand had twitched but not drawn the blade that rested in its scabbard upon his back. It was a solitary palace guard, breathless and somewhat nervous, "As you are no doubt aware, my lady, we have a, ah, "situation," that requires your attention."

She nodded, pausing to retrieve her own sheathed blade resting atop a chest against the wall, "Lead the way," she adjusted the buckle as she pulled on the sword, moments before she turned to the others, "Come, I may need your help in resolving this peacefully."

Filling out of the room, they walked through the hallways of the castle, people moving aside to make way as the group not so much walked or hurried, but more marched towards the main entrance. With a single sharp hand signal from Aribeth, the doors were thrown open as the emerged, to catch the last of the suns rays, blood red and orange, streaked across the sky. From the top of the steps, they stared out at the vast chanting ocean before them, an angry mob that demanded justice, and wanted to see justice done.

"What's going on here?" Darius questioned a nearby guard who stood at attention, but the curling of his fingers around the shaft of his pike, with his eyes scanning through the crowds, searching for anyone who could be doing more than just chanting.

"Someone leaked information about what happened earlier today. The people know about Desther, and what his false Helmites have done to the city. Every Helmite Priest, in every quarter of the city that the mob could find has been butchered. They've come here to call for the leader and the last of the Helmites to be burned at the stake."

Darius frowned, "It would be simpler to hang him. The stench of burning flesh has already filled the air, covering everything it has touched. The taint of this plague will not leave the city easily. Are they not sick of that disgusting smell?"

"When it comes to those charged and found guilty of high treason, the only punishment is death by burning at the stake," explained Aribeth, "Lord Nasher reduced the barbarity of the punishment for High Treason when he assumed control of the city. The traditional punishment, used to be far worse."

"In that case, let the people dispense their justice. He is going to die so let's just announce his crimes and execute him. I would like to be done with this messy business quickly." Darius said flatly. He had seen enough deaths caused by the Wailing Death. He had killed many when hunting for the creatures to recover the reagents needed for the cure. Those deaths did not haunt him, nor did he regret them, but he felt a pain inside for every innocent who had suffered, and die a slow agonizing death.

Lord Nasher himself, having received the cure only hours before, his loud and heavy, almost signature footfalls announcing his approach. Those atop the stairs parted before him. Darius took several steps back, ensuring that he remained just out of direct sight of the Lord of Neverwinter. Darius had never bowed to anyone before, and was not about to start. Neither was Daelan, but they gave the Lord of the City the space, as well as a respectful nod, from where they stood.

Lord Nasher paused for a moment, as he considered those standing around him. He acknowledge their presence before stepping forward, to stare at the wall of people, gathered before the Stake that dominated the center of the Courtyard, only a few meters from the Great Tree that had stood since the earliest days of the City of Neverwinter.

"How do you wish this to be handled my lord?" Aribeth asked.

Nasher sighed, "Bring Desther out, and prepare him to meet his fate. A fitting punishment for what he has done to the people, and my city."

A short pause ensued as the lord of the city stepped forward and raised a hand, requesting silence from the people of his city, "My People, my fellow Neverwintarians! A grave crime, a gross injustice has been carried out against you, against me, and against us all!"

It was the opportune moment for such a speech as the guards dragged Desther upon the end of heavy chains through the side door that lead from the Dungeons with four guards surrounding him. Lord Nasher took note of this, as he pointed with one hand, "There is the man responsible for the pain and suffering that has been inflicted upon you all. He is charged with High Treason amongst many other crimes, and has been found guilty of all that he is charged with. The punishment," he paused for a moment, as he pointed to the stake with his other hand, "for such a crime is to be burned at the stake till death takes him!"

A roar of approval rang from the crowd, of once peaceful men, women and children who crossed the line-separating human from beast, reverting in to a savage mob. Many howled at their victory, that justice would be done, and carried out with the full strength and fury of the law.

The guards lashed him to the stake, taking some care not to gag him, but using the irons chains to secure him firmly to the post, as ropes would have given way beneath the fires. Mulland the Administer stood before Desther, unrolled the parchment scroll, and began to read, loud, and clear, so that all those could hear the words and the judgment. The crimes, were many, and detailed, as was the punishment. Mulland took great delight, as he finished in addressing Desther, "Any last words before you burn, you traitorous scum?"

Desther his face broken, still covered in blood from his final conversations with Darius, the scars covering his body from the more "persuasive" methods employed began to laugh quietly, his laughter growing louder and more maniacal before he finally spoke between barks of laughter "The Old Ones whom I serve will grant you living hell, while I laugh and spit upon you all as you suffer!"

At a drop of Nasher´s hand, the first of several torches descended on to the wood and oil. The flames raged with the suddenness of an angered dragon as they rose, spreading to create a barrier of flame. Desther still chained to post continued to laugh even as the fires burned bright about him. The flames closed in and his laughter died upon his lips changing with a piercing note as the flames began to consume his flesh and the tattered clothes that he had been wearing. He wailed and shrieked, twisting, desperate to escape the touch of the fires that steadily devoured him, body and mind, to banish his dark soul to eternal damnation within the pits of hell.

Fenthwick was unable to avert his gaze, as he watched Desther's struggle end as the fires continue to consume the now charred body, dangling loosely from the chains that had bound him, and continued to burn what was left of his body. Reaching backwards, Fenthwick trembled slightly, as he leaned against the wall for support. Aribeth placed a hand upon his shoulder, and gave a reassuring smile. Lost in the beauty of her eyes, their color like sparkling gemstones, he returned the smile as he took her hand in his and gave a gentle squeeze.

"Come, let us go back inside. We need not see the rest of this," suggested Daelan, "The people have had their justice," as he turned towards the doors of the Castle.

They turned to follow Daelan inside, who held the door open when a single voice stood out from the mob: "Hang the traitor Fenthwick!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Trial and Suffering.**

The named elf froze in mid step. He turned, slowly, to face the mob that had begun to murmur amongst themselves, making furtive glances in his direction. He paused as fear rose to settle in the pit of his stomach. Finding his voice, with the fingers of his lady entwined with his, he addressed the crowd, "I have done nothing wrong!"

Darius looked back and grimaced. He reached out toward Fenthick and pulled both him and Aribeth behind him, as his hand fell casually to the blade that rested in its scabbard at his hip. Daelan himself turned, and noticing the subtle movement, mirrored it, as his hand disappeared behind his back to grasp the shaft of the weapon that he wielded, even as Darius turned to address the now bloodlusted mob, "How can you all consider this man to be a traitor? He had done you no wrong, nor any harm."

"Horse shit! Fenthwick and Desther were working together the entire time. Desther leading the Helmites and Fenthwick was the one who showed and guided the false helmites through our city. He LET them spread the plague amongst us! They were in league with each other!" One man yelled back at him angrily.

"Indeed! Fenthick was always working with those false helmites! He is a traitor to us all! He must pay for his crimes!"

The mob of people surged forward determined to take the traitor and dispense their justice as the guards were unprepared and literally overrun by the mob. Their advance was stopped short as Darius reacted by drawing both his enchanted katana´s, one glowing red imbued with the elemental power of fire, the other a dark green, with hues of blue streaked throughout the blade, enchanted with a deadly magical poison. Even as the crowd drew back, Daelan himself drew the double bladed axe, whirling it over his head before falling in to a combat stance.

"Come no closer!" shouted Darius to the ocean before him, "You all know me, and you know that I have fought, and bled and killed for you! For your salvation when no others survived the Massacre of the Academy. Justice has been served. The traitor, the false Watchknight of Helm has burned at the stake in punishment for his crimes. There are no traitors but those you imagine!"

The sullen crowd stood, eying the blades and the two men who stood before them, mumbling with some shaking their fists at him. Several near the front spit at his feet, but Darius stood his ground firm even as voices from the crowd roared again, demanding death.

Daelan took up the impassioned plea upon himself, "Fenthwick Moss has done nothing but serve this city with the interest of its people, regardless of our place of origin or birth. He had hoped that the Helmites would help. He had no knowledge of the truth. Fenthwick did not dispense the false blessings that spread the plague. Fenthwick knew nothing of this! And yet you wish to hold an innocent man responsible? The traitor has already been punished. Why do the innocent have to die to sate your bloodlust?"

The mood of the sullen crowd quieted as they consider Daelan Red Tiger's words. A stranger, a foreigner to the city, but still, one of those who had fought, bled and nearly died to garner them the cure to the Wailing Death. It was readable in many faces that they considered the truth in the words spoken, even as they spoke quietly, discussing the matter amongst themselves. A few murmured in agreement and turned, beginning the trek to their homes, as a single woman's voice could be heard, "He speaks from the heart, and he also speaks the truth. Justice has been done. Our lives must continue, and the city must be rebuilt!"

It has often been said that there is always one person, often a man who has never seen enough bloodshed, and it proved to be true as one such loud young man stormed to the front of the mob, staring round angrily at those who were turning to leave, "Stop! This man," he pointed at Fenthwick with the torch he held, "This man, was negligent, allowing a traitor to work around him. Fenthwick Moss was blind to the traitor working along side him! Negligence! Fenthwick's negligence allowed the plague to spread! To take the lives of our friends, and families! He MUST be punished!"

The argument was old but it served to rekindle the flames, but a second stepped forward, to pour fuel upon the smoldering fire, "Fenthwick fled with the traitor to Helm´s Hold, the supposed stronghold of these Helmite bastards! Who is to say that he has not betrayed Desther to save himself? It took little for him to betray Neverwinter!"

The crowd began yelling again, screaming for Fenthwick to be hung, their chant changing as they stood and called, "Hang Fenthwick Moss!" over and over, the words of two young, brash fools, enough to turn the tide of the mob, reigniting the fire that had driven their bloodlust, that now called for another sacrifice. Amongst those who chanted for Fenthwick's death, there were those, the calmer, the wiser, the people who refused to demand the death of an innocent man. Who refused to call for death and those that openly opposed were shouted down by the mob's insanity.

Lord Nasher stood akin to a statue, before he took a breath and sighed. He knew the laws as well as any advocate, he had written many and changed many more. However, this was one that he had never considered. He raised his hand, not to silent the mob, but to point at Fenthwick. In an instant, the palace guards, four of the turned and marched with their weapons drawn. The mob, who saw the gesture and understood its significance roared their approval.

Darius turned as Lady Aribeth gasped her disbelief, turning to her lord, "Lord Nasher, you cannot, you cannot be…"

It took Darius only an instant to understand what was taking place, as he rounded on Lord Nasher, "You cannot be serious! You are going to listen to what these fool hotheads are telling you to do? What in all the hells do you think you are doing?"

Lord Nasher stared at him sternly, as he ground out the words between clenched teeth, even as Darius changed his stance and used the flat of his blades to create a whirlwind of steel that kept the guards at bay, hesitating just beyond the sting of the red and the bite of the green, "The law is the law. Fenthwick Moss was dangerously negligent and let a traitor work around him."

Darius roared a cry of anger, frustration, a cry choked with emotion, the sheer volume and ferocity behind the cry stunning the crowd to silence as the guards paused in mid-stride, "If Fenthwick is to be charged with negligence and hung for it, then you should hang as well! It was your decision that let the Helmites, false or not, in to the city! You are the Lord of the city. Start acting like one!"

Nasher glared as Darius stood his ground, with both his blade still held high, "You forget your place, and who you are. Who in all the hells do you think you are? I am the Lord of this City. And the law says that he should hang. Therefore, he shall hang for his crime!"

Darius stared daggers at the Lord of the city as his blades descended in pure disbelief, "You are pathetic, and too weak to be a leader of anything that ranks above my left shoe!"

Lord Nasher gritted his teeth as his guards exploited the momentary opening, leaping for and knocking the fighter of his feet. Before he could shake them off, five of the guards had pinned him firmly to the ground. Daelan surged forward, but held back as Darius shouted, "Daelan! Protect them! Protect Fenthwick and Ari…" he never finished his words as a fist descended, striking him hard in the head, sending a curtain of blackness descending down upon Darius, and he went limp, unable to maintain his hold upon consciousness.

"Tie him up." Nasher pointed to Fenthick.

"Wait a minute! This is wrong! What are you doing?" Daelan yelled at the lord of the city, "This is not law!"

"This is the law! He must be hung!" retorted Lord Nasher, glaring angrily at the mere sellsword that had dared to challenge him, on the entrance to his own castle.

"No! He is innocent! I won't let you do this," growled Daelan as he moved towards Fenthick, causing the guards to hesitated before the seven foot tall giant as the axe twirled before him, making the threat clear to the guards "Aribeth! Stop this!"

Aribeth stared at them all blankly then looked to Nasher, "Surely there is some mistake. You can't...hang him for that. Perhaps imprisonment for his crime would be justifiable but not execution! Fenthwick aided Darius and Daelan in capturing Desther! He helped capture Desther! Negligence is punished by imprisonment not execution!"

Nasher turned to her and shook his head. "You know the law as well as I do Aribeth."

"That cannot be law! It is not justice!" roared Daelan in frustration

"He's right, that doesn't make any sense. The punishment must fit the crime. Death is not punishment for this crime!" Aribeth pleaded.

"He commited no crime! Fenthick is innocent! It won't be an execution it'll be murder!" Daelan yelled

"Someone shut him up!" Nasher yelled harshly.

One of the guards, struck from Daelan's blind side, the blow to the back of the knee knocked him down to one knee, and in that moments, the guards had moved in and restrained him, administering a further blow to his stomach to keep him quiet as the guards surrounded him with their weapons drawn to keep him in place.

Lord Nasher signaled to the guards, and they closed in on Fenthwick, standing but trembling behind Aribeth. Aribeth's hand trembled as it went to the hilt of her own blade, shaking uncontrollably as it wrapped around the hilt, and prepared to draw it in defense of her lover.

It was Fenthwick's hand, that descended upon Aribeth's that gave her pause, "There is no escaping," he paused, struggling to hold back his tears, to prevent his voice from breaking, before starting again, "My love, there is no escaping what fate holds for me."

She understood what had not been said, "You cannot…"

"I can my love, for I know you, a brave and loyal paladin of Tyr, would not hesitate to draw your weapon in my defense. In the defense of an innocent, in defense of my innocence," he paused, "But I will not have you struck down defending me."

"This is wrong... this isn't right...this..."Aribeth stared at the ground, trying desperately to make sense of everything that was happening. Even as the guards closed in, only feet from them now, "How can this be happening?"

Fenthwick had no answer for the question his beloved had posed, but he gently moved her aside, the tears falling with nothing to keep them back as her weak legs threatened to fold like matchsticks beneath her. He turned to face the guards that approached him, and raised a hand, as he spoke to them, "You only seek to serve your Lord, the master of this city. But I only ask that I be given a few moments to say farewell to my beloved."

Guard Captain Jenk, the leader of the squad of four guards stopped short, as he considered the scene before his eyes, of the Lady Aribeth De Tylmarande leaning against the wall in tears and at the courage of a man condemned. He himself felt a tear developing in his own eyes, as he stopped, and held up a clenched fist, ordering his fellow guards to stop, "Give them a few moments."

"But sir…" questioned one of the guards,

"I said, give them a few moments!" he snapped.

The mob had fallen silent long before but now was beginning to chant again, calling for Fenthwick´s death. He embraced his beloved for the final time, taking the moment to whisper a few words in to her ear, even as she held him and refused to let go, even as she shook, the tears fell like sparkling diamonds to catch the sun's rays as it began to dip beneath the sky. He turned, as Jenk approached, with his fellows, who separated them gently, Jenk, taking one arm, as the three other guards supported Aribeth, as she cried, gently lowering her to the floor, where she sat, her arms wrapped around her knees.

"Captain Jenk," whispered Fenthwick, keeping the fear out of his voice, but unable to stop the trembling that racked his body, "Let me walk to my fate, so that I can die, with some honor, as a man."

The Guard Captain released his hold upon Fenthwick's arm, "You are a braver man than I, Sir Fenthwick Moss," he paused for a moment, "I am sorry."

Fenthwick Moss walked, surely, and steadily towards the Great Tree and the hangman's noose that had been already set up, silent and ominous. Fenthwick paused as he passed by Daelan, and a still stunned but now conscious Darius, both trapped without their weapons, within a circle of drawn swords ready to strike should either make a move. They both, unable to say anything as they stared at each other, Fenthwick nodded slightly, "Look after Aribeth for me," he took a breath before he could continue, "Once I am gone."

They could only nod, unable to speak, unable to find the voice to acknowledge the last wish of a condemned man. He walked to his fate with the guards creating a cordon around him, so that he could at least walk to his fate, with some dignity and honor. Fenthwick stood atop the crate, beneath the noose, and said nothing, as he stood with his head held high, as the crowd fell silent watching the entire spectacle with bated breath. A few of the people tried to struggle forward, "This is wrong! You can't do this!" The guards did little to hold them back, as other members of the angry mob did the task for them.

Lord Nasher, ruler of the city of Neverwinter stared at Fenthwick and sighed. The elf stood his ground, staring ahead, avoiding the eyes of his two captive friends, only to stare at the face of his beloved, tears falling freely, with her beautiful hair entangled as she cried openly. He sighed. His time had come, "Fenthick Moss, you have been charged with criminal negligence and have been found guilty of the crime you have been charged with. You shall be hung until you are dead."

Most of the crowd watched and yelled excitedly, roaring again their triumph. Others stared sadly as the crate was kicked out from beneath Fenthwick's feet, causing him to fall. Fenthwick twisted and writhed as he struggled to breathe, to draw in to his lungs. As a single voice, echoed across the courtyard, its buildings and walls to silence the roar of the bloodthirsty mob: Aribeth's. She stormed to her feet as she batted two guards aside, before several more grasped her arms, preventing her going any further forward, any closer.

Aribeth who could only watch in horror as her love's struggling weakened and finally stopped, as he swayed gently back and forth in the light evening breeze as she covered her face and doubled over, crying softly, her heart broken beyond repair, her struggles to free herself weakening as the guards held her firm.

The spectacle over, the mob's thirst sated, they began to fade. Around Darius, and Daelan, the guards sheathed their swords as they stepped away. Darius ground his teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut firmly. The rage swept through him, an uncontrolled fire fanned by rage at the injustice he had seen. He exploded to his feet, his gauntleted fish striking a guard in the face, as he snatched both his blades from him, as his voice rose to a shout, "NASHER! I should kill you for what you have done!" His voice was shaking and the swords trembled in his grasp.

Nasher watched him and signaled to the guards who closed in, and disarmed him without a fight and secured his hands behind his back. Captain Jenk whispered, "You've been charged with disorderly conduct, and will be locked up. Only for a few hours until you calm down."

Nasher turned stiffly and walked back into castle, with the guards holding Darius following suit to take him towards the Dungeon of the Castle. Daelan looked at Darius who nodded towards Aribeth. He shook off the guards and ran toward her hoping that he could offer some comfort as he knelt at her side.

Aribeth was still bent over and barely noticed as Daelan rested a hand upon her trembling shoulder, "I'm so sorry..." The elf glanced at Daelan then sat up and hugged him tightly as the remaining few members of the crowd turned away, unable to stand the sight, some with tears in their eyes as they bowed their heads in shame.

"How could we allow this to happen?" A young girl, perhaps ten or eleven years old asked her father who held her in his arms. Daelan heard the question and it hurt him, to see one so young having been stripped of the innocence that marked her as a child.

"There wasn't much we could do, we were too few." Her father said to her as he hugged her tight, "We should go... there is nothing that we can do."

Daelan whispered soothing words to Aribeth but the elf barely heard them as her shoulders shook, as she cried, cried the tears that drowned her world, her future, her hopes and her dreams.

Her shoulders shook gently as she tried to get herself under control. But she could not help herself as she looked to the sky above, the sun having set, as she roared her final question to the heaven above, the tears still streaming down her face, "Why?"

Tyr, one of the gods in heaven, remained silent as if refusing to answer the question, even as Aribeth stood, and drew her blade, before plunging it in to the soil at the base of the tree. "WHY?" she screamed to the heavens, before falling yet again, this time, holding her sword by the blade, as close to her as she could. The deadly razor sharp edge cut in to her hands, but she could not care as she rested her weight upon her impaled blade as Daelan did what he could to comfort her, as they sat, beneath the still gently swaying body of Fenthwick Moss.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Final Rest.**

The guard escorted Darius, but maintained a careful distance, even though he was chained. They arrived at the door to the cell, a larger one and more comfortable one on ground level. Darius was uncertain whether this was a courtesy being extended to him by Lord Nasher, or by the guards. It failed to matter to him in either case, "Sorry about this Sir Angelus. Just doing our job, it's nothing personal."

They unchained him and gently, but firmly pushed him in to the cell. For a moment Darius rubbed his wrists determined to bring some life back in to them. He looked around and noted the cot that hung from one wall, in a far corner of the dingy cell. He snorted in frustration, before sitting down upon it, as he heard the key turn in the lock behind him. One of the guards turned his back upon Darius, went across the small space to a desk, and sat down there, with two others, ostensibly to guard him, but in all honesty, to while away the time before they were relieved.

Darius stared at the wall from where he sat, counting the number of dingy stones that made up the wall that was also beginning to crumble slowly, "I can't believe this. How could this have happened? In this city? In Neverwinter! How could such a thing have happened?"

Rising to his feet, Darius approached the solid iron bars that made up one of the walls. He could see the trio of guards, chatting quietly to each other, as he stood there, hands wrapped around the bars, "Hey!" his first shout garnered their attention, his second served to bring one of them over to door.

"What?" snapped the guard, "You're lucky that you´re just in a cell and not hanging from a tree with that traitor!"

Darius snorted at him, before lashing out with cat like reflexes, grabbing the front of the guard's tunic, and jerked him closer to the bars, "Explain to me how such injustice can be done in a city with the God Tyr as its Patron Deity? The confusion upon the guards face was thin mask to hide the fear. Darius released him in disgust, pushing him back hard enough to stumble before falling to the floor. Darius yelled at the prone figure yet again, "Answer the damn question!"

"You wish to talk of injustice? Fenthwick was a traitor to the city!" retorted the guard, as he stood and brushed himself off, his two fellow guards coming forward eyeing Darius angrily.

"Fenthwick Moss was charged with criminal negligence! Review the laws of your city: The punishment must fit the crime. The punishment for negligence is imprisonment! Your own laws state it. You are the ones who called to enforce it. You are the ones who should know what it states! How is death and imprisonment equal punishments to the same crime?" Darius glared at the gathered guards, who glared back unconvinced at his argument, "You choose to follow the orders that broke the very laws you are meant to up hold."

"We did our duty to our lord!" snapped back the same guard, his two fellows standing at his sides, nodding their agreement.

"So you do what you are told, despite the fact that it is against the laws you are sworn to uphold and serve. You do as you are told to avoid getting in trouble?" whispered Darius in disbelief, "I find that pathetic. You shame the very city that you serve and protect!"

"We did what our Lord ordered us to do," another said calmly

Darius turned away from the guard, his feet dragging across the stones as he moved back and sat down upon the cot, "You are nothing but cowards and fools. The puppets of a Lord who does not understand the law he is supposed to uphold."

The second guard frowned as he spoke, "Should I have stopped Fenthwick's hanging? And then be accused of being a traitor? And then hang alongside him?"

"Yes," replied Darius quietly, "You should have," he paused, "You would have died an honest man. Now, you die a murderer. How could you fail to see those out there that tried to stop this "justice" but could not because of your fellows? There should be at least a dozen more hanging alongside Fenthwick as traitors to the City. But there is still only one body hanging from the Great Tree." Darius sat down upon the Cot, "If the crowd has demanded it, would you have hung me along side Fenthwick?"

The guards watched him and considered his words. None of them spoke, but all of them knew the truth in his words, as it had cut them to their very soul. Darius was calm, but he was calm only because he was still numb in shock over the death of his friend, and the injustice of it all. It did not seem as if any time had passed when he heard the key spin in the lock, as the door swung inward on its hinges. The guard stood and waited for him to exit, before handing him both his blades, in their scabbards, by the hilt.

Darius stared in to the same guard's eyes, and nodded his acceptance of his weapons. He strove to take them, but the guard held firm upon them, causing Darius' eyes to narrow as he stared in to the man's face. The guard hesitated and swallowed, his eyes falling to the ground, "You were right," he said, before releasing his hold upon the scabbards. He took a deep breath before speaking again, "Come, I was told to escort you from the Castle."

"I want to return to the Courtyard," said Darius quietly, "I…"

"I will take you there," he replied.

They followed the same route that they had taken before, and emerged at the door that lead back to the Courtyard. Darius turned and stared at the guard, who retreated inside. He heard the shifting of metal meaning that they had closed and bolted the door behind him.

The sun had set, hours before and was already rising upon the beginning of a new day. A few hours they had said. More like an entire day. His gaze wandered past the pile of ash and bone to rest upon the Great Tree, beneath which still sat Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande, still hugging her sword. Sitting close by, was Daelan. The two appearing as if they were statues, having not moved for hours, the fallen leaves of the tree having settled around them another tear forming in his eyes, as he realized that she would not leave his remains. Traitors are never buried. They are left to rot.

The two of them still sat beneath the body of Fenthwick Moss, swinging gently back and forth in the breeze, as he approached them. Daelan heard the soft crunch of gravel and looked up, his expression solemn, as he offered Darius a weak smile, before sighing and turning his attention to the heart-broken Elf that sat next to him. Uncertain what to do, Darius acted upon instincts and from the heart as he knelt next to her, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Her tears had long since ceased to fall, but that did little to mask the pain within. He struggled for the moment as he sought for words of comfort, to say something, but still, nothing appropriate seemed to come.

"I know..." Aribeth whispered as she embraced him, "I know, that… that you tried," She turned, as Darius let her go to face Daelan, "that you both tried."

Darius looked up at Fenthwick's body before turning to Aribeth, "Fenthwick was no traitor Aribeth."

Daelan nodded his agreement, "He was innocent."

Daelan and Darius exchanged a look, before they stood, and Daelan drew the dagger he wore concealed in his belt, "He deserves a proper burial." Reaching up, he cut the rope, as Darius gently grasped Fenthwick's body and laid it upon the ground, to undo the noose.

With infinite care, Darius hefted Fenthwick's body in to his arms and began to walk, a strong steady stride, towards the courtyard exit. Daelan stood and helped Aribeth to her feet, before they followed, several steps behind, flanking Darius as he paused a moment, allowing them to catch up with him.

Their passage through the City Core, went unheeded, until the approached the building that housed the city's mercenaries, The Trade of Blades. From its doorway, the dwarf Graxx had choked upon his ale as the trio passed. Daelan gave a brief nod to Graxx before he disappeared inside. They could hear shouting but not what he said; Daelan dropped back several steps as his hand went to the shaft of his weapon, a twinge of unease running down his spine. The only reason they had passed this way was that the city's finest coffin maker was in a building behind the Trade of Blades itself.

They stopped in front of the small building, somewhat ramshackle in its appearance, but the aging sign above the door marked it as the place that they sought. Darius stared down at the still face of Fenthwick, before tapping the door thrice with his armored foot. A moment passed before Darius rapped again.

This time, a middle-aged man, appeared at the door, before looking down at the body, and then up in to Darius's face, "Need a coffin for poor Fenthwick, I see." The man opened the door wide, and beckoned them in, closing the door behind them.

The shop was relatively small, with coffins of various makes and sizes, some plain and others ornate lining the walls. In the back, they could hear the sound of hammer and chisel stop before a young boy of about fifteen years came out. He stopped and stared for a moment, mouth agape before remembering his manners. Pulling his mouth shut, he stared for a moment longer, especially at Darius who carried the fallen Fenthwick in his arms, before disappearing from sight.

The coffin maker turned to face the Lady Aribeth, "I doubt you remember me, but I remember the kindness that you showed me, and my family. I also remember the kindness of Fenthwick to my wife and son" he gestured round the shop, "Pick whichever you wish."

Still carrying Fenthwick, Darius nodded to Aribeth, indicating that she should choose one, as Darius raised an eyebrow to Daelan, who turned to the man, "What is the price?"

The man winced visibly at the question, "As I said, I remember the kindness that was shown to me and my family. No charge," he paused, "My son should be round with a horse and cart in a moment. Please, return them when you are done."

Daelan nodded his understanding, and thanks to the man. One of the few good ones left in Neverwinter by his standards. Aribeth, who had paused by one made of oak, her fingers brushing over the smoothly sanded and polished lid before moving to one made chestnut before nodding to herself, "This one."

Gently, they lowered the coffin, before placing Fenthwick within. All three of them stared at him a moment before she took an amulet from around her neck and placed it upon his neck. The coffin maker's son arrived round front, and together they loaded the full coffin. The young lad leapt off, pausing as he passed Aribeth to whisper a few quiet words, offer his condolences. She thanked him, biting her teeth to prevent any more tears from falling. Darius nodded too the coffin maker, and his son, as Daelan and Aribeth climbed aboard the car.

"Thank you for this." Aribeth said, "Forgive me, for I do not remember you name."

"Kelvar, my lady," he replied, "This, is the least that I can do." He bowed before them and led his son back into the workshop, before closing the door and bolting it.

Darius wheeled the cart to a building not too far away, just a few doors down, to the home of a tombstone mason. Darius would have knocked at the door but the mason was standing in his own doorway alerted by the noise that meant business. The man growled as he recognized Darius, Aribeth and Daelan, "I know what you want. I know you want a tombstone for your traitorous elf friend?"

Darius bit his tongue as Aribeth shook from the abusive words that cut at her with the ferocity of a knife. "Yes we want a tombstone," he leaned forward and grabbed the man by the throat, "and if you speak again when you are not spoken to, I will carve a few choice words in to your chest!"

"Darius!" snapped Daelan, worrying about his friend, whose temper, he knew was on a very short leash of frayed string, "This does not help our situation."

Darius growled as he pushed the man back in to his own house. Within, Darius could hear the man heaving a slab of granite on to his worktable before chipping at it with hammer and chisel, Darius glanced at his hand, a soiled by holding the man's throat. A few minutes passed before the mason said, "It is done."

Darius glared as he walked in to the building, and noticed the smirk upon the man's face, "If I find the word "traitor" on that stone slab, I promise it will be put to good use."

"Oh no m'lord!" The man said in a mocking tone, "I would never do such a thing. How about you go elsewhere and get your tombstone carved eh? You should be grateful that I'm even considering doing this for you and that traitor!"

Before Daelan could stop him Darius had picked up the craftsman and thrown him the length of the room. He had crash landed atop a pile of crates, that soften his landing for him, but still left him dazed and confused but fortunately alive. Darius turned to the worktable, the tombstone lay with the words: "Here lies the dirty body of the Traitor of Neverwinter: Fenthwick Moss." Darius growled, as he pushed the slab aside.

While no mason, Darius hefted another slab of granite on to the table, before grabbing the hammer and chisel, "I'll be damned before I let him carve anything!" Aribeth walked up to him and watched as he carved the words in to the stone, reading them silently as they were formed: "Here lies Fenthwick Moss, a devout man, of pure heart, a servant of the people of Neverwinter, a servant of Justice and the Light." Darius hesitated, his hands shaking slightly.

"What is wrong?" Aribeth asked quietly.

"I," he paused, "I don't know how to … to end… to finish it."

"May his spirit find peace in the grace of Tyr..." said Aribeth as she looked up at Darius.

He looked at her then down at the stone and began etching her words in to the stone, followed by the symbol of Tyr above the message. It took him several long minutes before he was finished and dusting off the tombstone. He inspected with a critical eye as Aribeth stood by him. Darius knew that he had done a poor job with the tools. "It's not the best of work," agreed Aribeth, seemingly reading his mind, "But I think it will mean more since it has been done by a friend."

Hefting the slab of stone, they headed toward the door as a voice called out behind them, "Hey! I want compensation!"

"You didn't do anything fool." Darius told him icily.

"Pay me for the use of my tools and for that wasted slab!" The man yelled angrily.

"I will return to pay you later!" Darius growled as the man's bravado crumbled, "I will be paying you, by ensuring your work upon that first slab is used appropriately: I intend to pay you by burying you beneath it!" The mason trembled with fear, as he promptly lost control of his bladder, a dark stain appearing upon his trousers. Darius drew his blade and the man fled, crashing through his own window in his desperation, "Scum," muttered Darius.

Once again, they moved through the city, passing thorough the District Gates in to the Beggar's Nest, where the poorest of the people lived. The Great Graveyard was their destination. Many of the peasants saw them and bowed their heads respectfully, as some fell in behind the cart, wishing to pay their last respects, but keeping a respectful distance as they did not know how the deadly fighter would react to their presence.

Darius reacted to their presence. He recognized some faces within the crowd, as those who had roared and celebrated the hanging of an innocent. He paused the cart and spun round, one hand taping the hilt of the blade that rode upon his hip, "We go to bury a friend and an innocent man. Disturbing his last rites, would displease me, greatly." A number of the mob faded away.

The large oak gate was slightly ajar and the trio noticed others were inside many placing flowers at the graves of loved ones who had perished in the plague. Aribeth pushed open the gates to the graveyard and stopped short at the sight of so many, men and women, all there, tending to freshly dug graves, all of them victims of the Wailing Death. It drove yet another nail of grief in to her as she looked round at the suffering that the people had endured. Many of those here, looked weak and ill, but they noticed her, and they quietly filed out, some mumbling under their breath, others with looks of pity and sadness, several passing to offer their condolences. Those with anything improper to say wisely held their peace as they noticed that she did not come alone.

Darius and Daelan paused behind her as they looked for a place that they could bury him, where his grave would be left in peace and undisturbed. Daelan spotted the small group of trees, that seemed to lead off in to wild jungle, "There, my lady," he gestured with his head, his hands still supporting the coffin, "Behind that line of trees, beyond the sight of others. He would be allowed to rest in peace there."

Aribeth looked the area over and nodded, snatching up a pair of shovels from where they rested, leaning against the wall of the gravediggers hut. The gravedigger ran out and was about to yell something, when he noted who had snatched his shovel, and more importantly, what the two men accompanying her supported between them. He retreated quietly in to his home where he wiped a tear from his eye. He too, felt guilt for the "mobs justice."

Disappearing through the trees, they somehow, managed to maneuver the coffin between them; until they found themselves sheltered by the trees causing the rest of the graveyard disappeared from existence, away from all, in the center of a small clearing, barely large enough to accommodate them.

"Yes. This will do perfectly," whispered Aribeth as she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop the shaking that threatened to take her off her feet. The men grabbed a shovel each, with long practice of burying the dead upon a battlefield, marked the outline, and began to dig. It was slow steady work, as a spade full of earth at a time they dug the final resting place of Fenthwick Moss. It took them an hour of work, before they could lower his casket in to his grave using the rope that had been in the cart. It was another hour before they had covered the casket and planted the tombstone to mark the grave.

The trio stood around, in silence, before Daelan broke it, "Fenthick was a good man, dedicated to Tyr… it is sad that he died in such a fashion."

Darius knelt by the tombstone, as he spoke a few words, "Fenthwick, I know that you're watching, from Tyr's right hand. I do not know of you hold any ill will towards the people, who had you hung... I don´t know if you hold any ill will towards us, your friends, and the fact that we could not save you..."

"He would not. I doubt he is even angry at the people who wanted him hung," whispered Aribeth quietly from a few feet away, "He was a servant of Tyr in life, and now he is free to enjoy the fruits of so many years of devoted service."

Darius looked up at the sky and watched the dark grey rain clouds move overhead, but the sun still shone through in places. Daelan noted the change in weather as a wind, strong and suggestive of the storm to come whirled around them, "It is going to rain," he paused, "Come, my lady, we should get you home."

Aribeth stared at the two men, who had done so much, for Lord Nasher, for the city and for the people, and now for her as well. She stared at the grave before letting her hand trail across the cold stone that marked the final resting place of her beloved. "This is no longer my home," she whispered.


End file.
